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By Zach Ricchiuti

Emphatic wins by Arsenal and Chelsea separated the two clubs from the rest of the pack.

This day was bound to come. I could only go so long without cracking to the delusions of grandeur about Arsenal that fill my head. This team is good enough to win the title. Whether they have the fortitude to do so is another story, but Arsenal is a far more complete package than last year’s hastily-glued-together bunch. The team is balanced; goals are coming from everywhere, and defensively, the back line has pulled a Wizard of Oz and found their courage, brains, and heart.

Playing West Ham on their home turf is a challenge for any side in the Premier League. Their striking line is led by the Andy Carroll, and perhaps more importantly, they release bubbles in the stadium and sing this song before and halfway through each match. I can only imagine what went through Arsenal’s minds as that filtered into the stadium tunnels. It’s akin to standing in the bowels of the Roman Coliseum, listening to the roar of a deranged croud. “Pretty bubbles in the air!” Terrifying.

Most importantly, though, West Ham is managed by Satan’s second-in-command, Sam Allardyce. His Bolton side years ago were physical, direct, and absolutely miserable to watch. They consisted of one lump of a footballer, eight players who could direct their kicks up to that one lump, and then a final talented player gifted the task of chasing that lump's knock-downs and smashing them towards goal.

Allardyce must have been thrilled when he learned he’d receive Carroll on loan. The forward embodies everything that he believes in, all packed into a gangly frame that makes him difficult to cover, but which also makes it difficult for him to play football. Watching Andy Carroll on the pitch reminds me of a series of quotes about the U.S. army compared with the Russians and Germans during World War II. 

“One of the serious problems in planning against American Doctrine is that the Americans do not read their manuals nor do they feel any obligation to follow their doctrine” –Russian Military Document

“The reason that the American Army does so well in wartime, is that war is chaos, and the American Army practices chaos on a daily basis” –German General Officer

“If we don’t know what we are doing, the enemy certainly can’t anticipate our future actions!” -Anonymous American Serviceman

Arsenal, on the other hand, are all that is pure and holy in the game. They maintain balanced transfer budgets, employ a short passing game rivaled only by Barcelona’s, and likely have a three-point plan for peace in the Middle East. And on Saturday, that organization helped them fend off manic West Ham. In the midfield, Carroll won almost every ball in the air, but Arsenal’s Arteta won more of those second balls. Combined with his close positioning to Mertesacker and Vermaelen, Arsenal could easily regain the ball even if they lost the initial aerial battle. That gave Giroud the opportunity to score his first Premier League goal and notch his fourth assist.

As good as they looked versus West Ham, Arsenal will face a tough run for the title. Chelsea is still dangerous coming off a European Cup win that was nothing short of miraculous. They made shrewd investments in their team, and Fernando Torres has responded to being given more responsibility with solid leadership on the front line. Watching that front four interchange against Norwich was breathtaking, resembling at times Harlem Globetrotters exhibition. 

My bold prediction is that these teams will end up one and two, in some sort of combination. Manchester United’s midfield and defense is old and slow, and will struggle against top teams and in the Champions League. And Manchester City has its hands full trying to keep players like Mario Balotelli and Carlos Tevez happy. Their group in the Champions League is a nightmare, and leaves the distinct possibility of missing the knockout rounds for the second straight year.

With the clubs from Manchester struggling, Arsenal and Chelsea seemingly have a clear path. Now the question is who will grab it and run the furthest.

Zach Ricchiuti is a contributor and resident soccer expert for Began in '96.

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By Zach Ricchiuti

Three weeks in, European club soccer is taking its customary international break. But already there have been a slew of storylines and drama.

There’s nothing more depressing than realizing that, just three weeks into the new European soccer schedule, there are no games on this weekend. It’s the international break, the bane of all managers and coaches who ship off star players to their respective countries and then huddle in a corner clutching and rosary praying those same star players come back without crutches or a slew of prostitutes behind them (I'm looking at you Jonathan dos Santos).

He Who Must Not Be Named (formerly known as Robin Van Persie) was infamous for scoring goals by the bucketload just before the international break. The Dutch media would crown him the second coming of the great Johan Cruyff, ready to lead the Dutch to glory. And then an opposing defender would smash his knee in three places. Most recently, Juventus’ Giorgio Chiellieni played the villain, while also holding the distinction of owning the largest nose in Italy and being the only Juventus squadmember not been charged with match-fixing. Allegedly.

Now that I think about it, I certainly would not mind He Who Must Not Be Named falling down in a heap of bones after a crunching tackle from *insert Turkish player here*. Anything would be an improvement from watching him score a hat trick for Manchester United. Watching He Who Must Not Be Named score goals for Man U is a lot like being forced to watch your ex-girlfriend/boyfriend/wife/husband have sex with a richer, better-looking partner, all while he/she smiles at you and winks. Should I mention I am an Arsenal fan?

Back to the topic: There are a number of fascinating storylines to touch on after only three weeks of action. One has already been mentioned by my fellow writer, Joe Schackman, who in his honorable quest to learn more about the beautiful, holy game that is European soccer, has managed to somehow support the team of Satan himself, the Tottenham Hotspurs.

The Sun

Tottenham fired Harry Redknapp this summer and decided that they needed a manager with youth, vision, and a plan for future success. Does this sound like Chelsea circa 2011/2012? It should, considering that the Spurs hired former Chelsea coach Andre Villas Boas, the younger, far less sociable but better dressed version of his Portuguese counterpart Jose Mourinho. Villas Boas, who I’ll refer to as AVB, is according to English media law, most notable for winning the treble minor with Porto, benching Frank Lampard without explanation and then banishing Nicholas Anelka and Alex to play in the reserves while Chelsea limped out of the holy top-four places in England. 

If there's anybody who can dismantle a squad and cause chaos while impeccably dressed in an assortment of fitted suits, skinny ties, and club polos, it is AVB. But after deciding that his normal policy of introducing poorly communicated tactics wasn't enough, AVB decided to adopt the Arsenal method of self-destruction. He sold both of Tottenham's best players, Luka Modric and Rafael Van der Vaart, and brought in replacements. Did I mention that AVB has a problem dealing with players? Did I also mention that one of his first buys was Emmanuel Adebayor, the player who fell out with Arsenal fans after courting Milan midseason, and then proceeded to fall out with Manchester City manager Roberto Mancini? I could not have written a better script for disaster myself. 

But it's not all doom and gloom for Tottenham. They made some intelligent purchases in the transfer window. Ex-Ajax Amsterdam captain Vertonghen is a fine purchase, given that he has knees, and predecessor Ledley King did not. How a professional footballer manages to play as well as he did for that many years without any cartilage in his knees is truly a mystery. Clint Dempsey (obligatory GO USA!) is also a good purchase, and an absolute steal at $9 million. He has a track record of goal scoring in the Premier League and brings versatility to the front line. Moussa Dembele of Fulham also arrived at White Hart Lane this summer in a $20 million deal. As he showed against Norwich, Dembele will bring directness, strength, and dribbling to a Tottenham midfield that is anemic despite Gareth Bale's attempts at being the fastest white man since... well, there aren't many fast white men out there. 

But more than player or prayer, what AVB really needs is time. His 4-3-3 formation is attractive and fluid, but requires a lot from Tottenham's brainless wingers (Bale on the left and Lennon the right). Namely, he needs them to be intelligent and come in off the touchline to support their lone striker. He will also need to find the right balance of defense, while being able to send his fullbacks bombing forward. There are still question marks about the huge, Luka Modric-shaped hole in the center of their midfield, but Dembele might fill that hole with time. There is certainly potential in this Spurs side, and if they stick with AVB, he might be able to make it work. 

Moving on to Spain, it seems Cristiano Ronaldo is sad. Making roughly $300k a week, being the reigning golden boot winner in Spain and playing for arguably the most famous club of all time is normally enough to keep people happy. But Ronaldo, frankly, is a spoiled brat. 

I am not one to lightly pass over the human aspect of being an athlete. Money does not bring happiness and there is a track record of depression in sports. But somehow, Ronaldo does not strike me as someone capable of complex emotions or especially deep thought. Given that Barcelona’s Andres Iniesta recently won UEFA’s best European player honors, I’d imagine his temper tantrum has more to do with that. 

Him stonewalling the cameras after scoring goals this past weekend then declaring to the media that "I am sad, and the club know why," is quite obviously, not good for Madrid. There are some who feel that Ronaldo is undervalued by Real Madrid and their fans. Counterpart Lionel Messi is treated like a 5’4” god in Barcelona, held up as the genius and leader that he is, responsible for dragging Barcelona to tiki-taka victory. Ronaldo, on the other hand, faces more pressure. And coming off a season where he almost singlehandedly won the league title, it's possible that he's displeased with the club over a lack of support. Or a mass-shortage of hair gel. Both seem fairly possible reasons.

But on with the international breaks, where by the time of this being posted, the U.S. will face a must-win against Jamaica, England will have thrashed Moldova, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will have broken his leg in an earth-shattering collision with a Turkish defender (or he'll have scored a hat-trick). 

Fear not though, fellow fans, in just a week we’ll be back to the club battles that keep us coming back and the drama that keeps things interesting. I too will be huddled in a corner clutching my rosary, hoping that none of Arsenal’s players get injured.

Zach Ricchiuti is a contributor and resident European soccer expert for Began in '96.

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By Joe Schackman

Now its time to pick a team, and the Tottenham Hotspurs are the perfect fit.

I’m aware that the Euro Championship came to a close this past weekend, and that I should probably talk about that. But we have some club football to discuss first. With the start of the Premier League season just a few months away, there’s still the transfer market to examine and some U.S. soccer theories to discuss. But right now, there’s a more important task at hand. I need myself a team.

One of the things that has fascinated me about football in Europe is that the fanbase is so hyper-localized. Cities, counties, countries and religions are deeply tied to the team people support. When fans put on their club's jersey, it says more about their religion, ethnicity and political beliefs than an hourlong conversation could.

Since I did not grow up in Europe, this poses a bit of a problem for me. The rest of the teams I support I inherited through family ties and regional biases, and while I didn’t grow up there, I do have an allegiance to one place on in Europe: London.

I spent my time abroad in one of the world’s biggest cities, trying to experience life as a true Londoner. And while one semester was too brief to tie myself to the city completely, it was more than enough time to fall in love. So it only seems right that I base my search in a place that’s already provided me with many fantastic memories.

In London, the four major teams that come to mind are Chelsea, Arsenal, Tottenham and Fulham. I can rule out Chelsea right off the bat. The reigning European Champions are too much of a global force to make it fair. It’d be like purchasing some Yankees gear and claiming I grew up in the Bronx.

That leaves the other three, and between Arsenal, Fulham and Tottenham there are a lot of things to like. But Tottenham has something that the other clubs don’t: Jews.

Yes, that’s correct. Tottenham is widely considered one of the most “Jewish” clubs in Europe. That’s due to a few factors, but mainly because North London has a very large Jewish population. Tottenham’s fans are so intertwined with the city’s Jewish culture that they’ve become affectionately known as the “Yids.”

Now, the term Yids didn’t emerge from the best of intentions, and was originally meant as an insult. But in a symbol of solidarity, Tottenham fans adopted the name and took pride in it. Arsenal, also in North London has its share of Jewish fans but Yid became the unofficial term for all Tottenhams fan, Jewish or not.

It’s also a title I plan to take up for good at some point. It won’t happen overnight, and to claim that I’m a diehard Tottenham Hotspurs fan would be an insult to sports fans everywhere. But that will change. If my grand plan works, one day I won’t feel like an outsider. I will be indebted to the team that helped introduce me to a world that I’ve never experienced. It won’t be tomorrow, it won’t be this season and it probably won’t be next, but one day it will feel right to call myself a Yid.

Joe Schackman is an editor and co-founder of Began in '96

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